


Red Is the Color of Passion

by CC99trialanderrorgirl



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: (Blink and you miss it), (sort of), Alex's Sub tendencies, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time Blow Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Praise Kink, Semi-Public Sex, Slight AU wherein this is their first time instead of in Alex’s bedroom after that dinner, Slight threat of getting caught, Smut, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27402298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC99trialanderrorgirl/pseuds/CC99trialanderrorgirl
Summary: A second interlude in the Red Room during a White House party goes a little differently. . .Hint: there’s sex involved.Henry is wearing a crisp gray suit on the day Alex just snaps.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 28
Kudos: 254





	Red Is the Color of Passion

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this political moment needs a little more of Casey McQuiston's fantastic world. Thank you to her for creating RW&RB. 
> 
> My friends, you are not alone. Keep the faith, stay safe, and remember that you are each incredibly precious, that you are each more than worthy, that you belong, and that you all deserve happiness and love. *hugs*
> 
> Now, please enjoy Alex and Henry having sex :)

Henry is wearing a crisp gray suit on the day Alex just snaps.

He’s been watching Henry schmooze for over an hour, playing up the stoic prince act for the benefit of the many, many politicians in attendance. Frankly, it’s boring and a little overdone. But Henry looks huge and powerful doing it, so it’s also turning Alex the fuck on.

The suit Henry is wearing has little dark gray and charcoal lines stitched through it to form a subtle plaid. It’s not doing Alex any favors because he can see areas where the lines are uneven, the fabric pulling tight across Henry’s huge polo-player thighs, broad shoulders, and thick ass. It’s making Alex feel sort of crazy. And ask Nora, June, his mother, anyone really – when Alexander Claremont-Diaz gets that itch underneath his collar, things do not go well for _anyone_.

He’s staring at the way Henry’s crisp, snow-white dress shirt pulls tight across his pectorals when Nora pops up behind him and says, “Alex, no.” It’s just two words, and she doesn’t even sing-song it into his ear. Her tone is flat, knowing. The itch underneath Alex’s collar gets that much more annoying.

Fifteen minutes later and he’s burning up inside. Henry is talking to some congress people – two women and a short brunette man – and they’re toasting something with champagne. Alex watches, rooted to the spot as Henry’s delicate fingers lift his glass and drain the whole thing at once. It’s a sure sign he’s starting to feel the strain of this crowd, the stress of wearing his public persona so perfectly. Alex wouldn’t mind messing it up for him, that’s all he’s saying. They haven’t seen each other in weeks. There was that kissing scene in the Red Room and there have been some emails exchanged, but it’s not enough. In fact, Alex is fairly certain he will never be able to get enough of Henry. He doesn’t even need Nora to run the numbers to be sure.

Across the room, Henry drains a second glass of champagne, his throat working against the stiff collar of his shirt, Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow. Alex wants to march over there and put him on his knees, get his cock out, and give that gorgeous throat something to work around. Or, wait – his brain reverses the picture, and now it’s Alex on his knees, Henry’s royal cock buried deep as he fucks his throat. A wave of desire hits Alex so hard he has to rock back on his heels, like he’s caught in some crazy Texas gale.

He takes one purposeful step forward. He can see Nora frantically shaking her head no from across the room. He takes another. June looks up from her conversation with Pez, surprise and confusion written on her face. He takes a third, and then he can’t stop. Before he knows what’s happening, Alex is striding across the room, excusing himself and Henry with a polite but firm remark before wrapping his right hand over Henry’s left wrist and all but _dragging_ him to the back of the State Dining Room.

Amy and Srivastava are already waiting, arms crossed across their chests, blocking Alex’s access to the Red Room and the sweet, sweet oblivion he knows he’ll find in there with Henry.

“The Prince and I have some diplomatic business to discuss,” Alex says – he hopes it comes out smoothly, but his voice is doing something funny where it comes out low and desperate instead. He sounds like he’s begging, _Christ_.

Normally he’d be humiliated, but Henry’s eyes go huge and wide the second he hears it, and Alex just can’t wait anymore.

“Move,” he tells Amy, and to his everlasting surprise, she does. She even unsticks from her position enough to pass him something as she steps aside. When he looks down at his palm, he realizes that his Secret Service agent has just handed him a condom. Oh _God_.

But the worst part? He is way too far gone to even care. Henry looks up at him with big shining eyes as they pass Amy and Srivastava to get to the door, and Srivastava just grunts a low, “30 minutes” before turning and barricading the door with his body.

_Oh God, oh God_ , Alex is starting to panic a little now. He’s just made the top female Secret Service agent in the United States and the Prince of England’s Head of Affairs accomplices in his _sexcapade_. But he doesn’t have too much time to think about it and get weird, because Henry makes a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat and that’s it, game _on_. Alex Claremont-Diaz _always_ plays to win.

He shakes off the doubt and grabs Henry’s wrist as hard as he can, dragging them both through the door and – as quietly as possible – kicking it shut behind them.

“That’s probably antique,” Henry drawls. “You maybe shouldn’t kick it. You Americans, you’re so –”

But he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Alex steps forward and _slams_ himself against Henry. Henry’s back hits the red wallpaper with a loud thud that Alex prays can’t be heard over the noise of the party. Henry seems entirely past caring. His head tips back as Alex crowds him against the wall, deft fingers already starting on the collar of Henry’s Hugo Boss jacket and the dress shirt underneath.

“Shut up, shut up, shut _up_ ,” Alex is chanting, apparently also too far gone to care about any repercussions by now. He can see the little sliver of skin revealed by unbuttoning the collar at the base of Henry’s neck, and it’s driving him _crazy_. He shoves the condom Amy gave him into the back pocket of his black dress pants and gets to work, sealing his mouth over Henry’s and shoving his tongue in with all the confidence of a boy born and raised in the state of Texas. Henry mewls and grabs for Alex’s ass.

Time passes strangely then.

The make-out is heated, all tongues and teeth and swollen lips. Henry keeps grabbing at his ass, and six weeks ago Alex would have thought something like that would freak him out, but he can’t believe how hot it’s getting him right now. He bites down on Henry’s earlobe, and a hand slides down the back of his pants – _under_ his boxers. The heat of Henry’s bare hand against his skin is so intimate and sexy that Alex half wants to die right here.

But Henry is keening, “in me, in me, in me,” and oh Jesus, Alex realizes what’s happening with startling clarity: he’s about to fuck the Prince of England in the middle of a White House party.

Impossibly, his dick gets a little bit harder. Hey, disobedience has always sort of secretly excited him, okay? And God, he needs it so bad right now. All those emails, the memories of the first few kisses they exchanged, the years of tension that Alex is only just now realizing count as a kind of foreplay…he grabs Henry’s shirt by the lapels and _yanks_.

Buttons go flying everywhere. Alex has a moment of panic that he just ripped what appears to be a Valentino dress shirt to pieces, but then Henry goes, “Oh my God,” in that accent of his, and Alex goes a little crazy, palming Henry’s pec with one hand and the bulge in his now very definitely too tight trousers in the other.

Things dissolve back into kissing for a while. Henry’s mouth tastes like coffee and champagne and something warm and wet that Alex suspects in just pure Henry. Henry’s tongue presses up against Alex’s palette as they kiss and then he nips lightly at Alex’s fat lower lip. His knees go a little weak at that. Henry notices and does it again.

“God, Alex, your lips,” he says the last word like it’s something indecent.

“So obscene, I swear to Christ,” Henry says, and _oh_.

“Do you,” Alex stutters over the words a little in his excitement but he’s a Claremont-Diaz so he soldiers on. “Do you want a blowjob?”

Henry freezes suddenly. His eyes go very wide and one of his hands flies to his dick and squeezes. “Jesus, Alex, you can’t just _say_ things like that.”

Alex just grins, too wide and insanely pleased with himself.

“Like I don’t wank off practically every night thinking about it,” Henry says, eyes dark and desperate. His face hold the desperately cautious expression of a man about to get something he’s been dreaming of for years.

And _whoa_. Henry thinks about this? About Alex getting on his knees and sucking him? He’s masturbated to the idea? It’s so hot that for one second, Alex is afraid he’s going to come untouched. But he manages to tamp down his desperation, backs himself away from the edge by sheer will alone, but the burning just settles into his bones instead, lighting a fire underneath him. He’s a Claremont-Diaz, after all – he goes after what he wants. So he pushes gently at Henry’s chest to keep him against the wall before sinking down to land on his knees at Henry’s feet.

“Oh,” Henry says, breathless. He looks down at the picture Alex makes – suit rumpled, lips swollen, hair a mess – and promptly chokes. “Oh God,” he says again, and the words sound stuck in his throat.

Alex leans in and undoes Henry’s fly with surprisingly steady hands. He _wants_ this. So bad. Jesus, he’s so turned on right now…he can’t _believe_ he ever thought he was straight.

Henry’s cock is magnificent. Strong and straight and long. Something about it is just so…Henry. Alex is salivating just looking at it.

He opens his mouth and looks up.

Henry makes a sound that sounds like “ _guh_ ” and grabs the base of his dick again. He looks like he’s been sucker-punched.

“Get your dick in me,” Alex says, aware of how it sounds. Henry finally snaps out of his shock and slips the head of his cock into Alex’s mouth. Alex starts sucking and licking immediately, and _yes_ , all those nights “procrastinating” online are finally paying off!

Henry is falling apart above him. Alex just bobs and sucks. There’s drool dripping down one side of his chin. Portraits of his country’s forefathers watch on as the current First Son revels in his own defilement on the Red Room carpet. The thought only gets him harder. He drops one hand to his slacks to relieve some of the pressure, but he never stops sucking.

It’s actually Henry who separates them, dragging Alex off by the hair. “Was gonna come,” is all Henry gets out. He shuts his eyes against the sight before him: there’s a line of saliva connecting the head of Henry’s dick to Alex’s swollen lower lip.

“Your lips are _pornographic_ , Alex,” Henry chokes out. Alex feels pleased inside. He knows he’s got unusually full lips for a guy – especially the lower one. He never really considered how that might translate to sucking cock, mostly because it took him a while to realize he’s interested in cock in the first place. But now that he knows he can’t get enough of it, he can see how in reality, he kind of has some pretty rad DSLs. Oh.

That’s what Henry must see every time he looks at him. The thought makes Alex strangely pleased. Above him, Henry is vibrating against the wall, eyes screwed shut and looking pained. He’s squeezing his dick again, so Alex doesn’t say anything. Henry lets go a minute later and opens his eyes.

“Fuck me,” is all Henry says, and holy shit, _yes_.

Alex scrambles up and all but throws himself at the small chest of drawers next to them. He yanks open the third drawer on the left and rummages around in the annals of historic furniture for a moment before triumphantly coming up with a small bottle of something, tape still stuck to its center. Henry blanches as Alex rips off the rest of the tape and sticks it back on the underside of one of the drawers.

“Alexander Claremont-Diaz,” Henry says sternly, “ _tell_ _me_ you did not hide lube in an antique Craftsman credenza built by George Washington himself.”

“Um,” Alex says, and holds up what he’s been furiously looking for the last 35 seconds: it’s definitely lube.

“How do you know who made it and when?” Alex deflects.

“Well one,” Henry holds up a single digit, and shit, his fingers are so long. Alex is seized with the sudden desire to have at least three of them shoved inside him, but he presses it back. Another time. It’s an incentive to make sure they _have_ another time. And preferably about a million more after that, too.

“There is a plaque detailing its origins right next to you.” Oh God, Henry sounds _bored_ and something about his dismissive tone is just completely _doing it_ for Alex right now.

“Two,” Henry holds up a second finger and Alex goes hot all over. “I may –” Henry pauses, looking embarrassed, and then gets it all out in a rush. “I may have researched the exact contents and dimensions of this room in detail on a few sleepless nights after our previous…tryst.”

He blushes.

Alex lunges.

“Tryst? Tryst?” he hears himself saying. “I’ll show you tryst. Jesus, you’re so goddamn hot.” 

Alex can’t stop talking.

Not when Henry’s pants come off, revealing those unbelievably thick polo player thighs. God, Alex wants Henry to choke him out with those fucking logs.

Not when Alex drops all his clothes, too, and stands naked in the Red Room with a boy for the first time in his life.

Not when Henry grabs him and crushes their bodies together and Alex can feel their cocks touch for the first time and oh God, oh _God_ , he is definitely not straight, he was never straight, how could he think he _was_ , he’s so glad he met Henry, Henry is so hot and clever and oh God, oh God, oh God –

He doesn’t even shut up when he goes a little crazy and knocks that stupid plaque and a bundle of dried flowers off the credenza and shoves Henry up on it.

He doesn’t shut up when Henry pulls his knees up to his armpits – _holy shit_ – and he definitely isn’t quiet when he pushes two lubed-up fingers into Henry for the first time.

He kind of loses himself in the prep, actually. It’s so new, and so intimate, and so fucking sexy and even if it’s also mechanical certain some ways, well, Alex has always been good with his hands. He’s a quick study, and Henry is groaning above him, making all kinds of desperate sounds, and Alex is just eating them all up with his lips and tongue and then spewing so many words out of his mouth that he doesn’t even know what they are.

After three fingers, Henry outright moans and Alex freezes, looking up at Henry’s face with blown pupils. Henry meets his gaze.

“If you don’t get in me right now,” Henry says, very seriously, “I swear to God I will start an international incident that gets you grounded by your mother – who is the _President_ – for the next sixty years, Alexand –”

But before Henry can finish his little speech, Alex is rolling on the condom, slicking himself up, pushing in, and…oh God.

Oh God.

It’s so _hotwettight_ – just oh, oh _God_.

Alex isn’t going to last, but he’ll be damned if he comes before his partner, so he grits his teeth and ruts up into Henry experimentally.

So. Good.

His mind is kind of getting blown here.

Maybe next time Henry will do him. And God, is that a _thought_. But they both instinctively seem to know that Alex isn’t really ready for that yet. And they are both still clearly _very_ much into the current arrangement.

Alex is thrusting and Henry is moaning and they’re kissing violently. One of Henry’s hands has gotten tangled up in Alex’s curls and it’s pulling, just a little bit, and it’s so good, and the slick-slide is so mind-meltingly incredible that he’s just about to –

Someone knocks on the door. They both freeze. Alex is trembling, trying not to finish his thrust, knowing Henry is way too far gone to stop himself from making a noise. They’re both a little scared, but then Amy’s voice floats through the door.

“Five minutes. The delegation needs the room.”

And Alex can’t stop himself – he thrusts.

And something about the angle must have changed when they both turned to look toward the door before, because this time, Henry _screams._

Alex quickly slaps a hand over his mouth and does it again.

Henry tightens his huge thighs around Alex’s waist. Alex gasps at the sensation. He grabs at one of them to brace himself and squeezes, and Henry squirms violently. Alex shudders and takes his hand off Henry’s mouth to start jacking him off instead.

Henry yanks Alex into a bruising kiss, all tongue and teeth and clashing mouths. Alex does a little mental geometry, dips down a bit, and somehow manages to start fucking _up_ into Henry – the more precise angle clearly works, because now Henry is screaming with _every_ thrust.

Henry gasps into Alex’s mouth, sudden and damning.

Alex bites his own lip – hard – and gives one last good, hard thrust.

Henry convulses, screaming so loudly that there’s no sound at all.

Then Henry gets a really good grip on Alex’s curls and just _pulls_.

It’s all over.

Alex whites out into pure, blinding bliss.

He thinks maybe he screams Henry’s name into his shoulder.

He thinks maybe he leaves this plane of existence entirely.

He thinks maybe he says, “I love you.”

(He hopes not – he’d prefer to tell Henry in a more romantic setting. Dinner by candlelight, lots of red roses, fantastic sex _afterwards_ – not before.)

When his vision clears, he looks up and realizes Henry is _crying_ with the force of his orgasm. There are little pinpricks of tears in the corners of his eyes.

“Thank you,” Henry is saying, and, “You were so good, Alex, so good.”

If he hadn’t already come his brains out, Alex is pretty damn sure he would’ve blown right there at the sound of Henry’s words.

They stare at each other for a good thirty seconds: Alexander Claremont-Diaz, First Son of the United States, and Prince Henry of England, both thoroughly debauched and deliciously filthy.

A knock on the door startles them out of their afterglow.

“Incoming,” Amy says, and she sounds rather panicked. Amy _never_ sounds panicked. Why does Amy sound panicked?

Henry recovers first. “Oh God, the delegation!” he shouts.

They fall to the floor in a flurry of limbs and panic.

Alex shakes himself out of his sex stupor and grabs the condom off his softening dick, tying it off and shoving it in his pants pocket as he yanks them up over his slim hips.

‘That’s disgusting,” Henry says as he struggles to get his left shoe done up.

“You love it,” Alex grins back.

Henry stills. “I do,” he says.

Holy. Shit.

But they don’t have time for this right now, and besides, it is so not the moment Alex envisioned. He has a used condom in his pocket, for God’s sake. He grabs up his shirt and jacket just as Henry yanks his ruined button-down on over his own chest and tries to hide the damage by buttoning up his suit jacket. It doesn’t work. Alex grabs his other shoe and goes, “out the door, out the door,” even as he’s shoving Henry toward the far wall instead.

“Wha—?” Henry starts to inquire, but Alex just shouts, “White House!” by way of explanation and pushes on a random wainscoted panel. The wall swings open and they hurry inside.

“Wait! The flowers, the plaque!” Henry hisses.

Alex drops his shoe in the secret corridor and runs back just as the door handle starts to depress. He can hear Amy talking louder than usual, and this close, he can see that Srivastava’s shadow still looms against the thickly-curtained French door. He replaces the plaque, scoops up the flowers, and dumps the armful on top of the credenza in an arrangement that he hopes looks artful but is actually probably just messy. Then he books it across the room and into the secret corridor.

They’re slipping the panel shut just as the door opens and the delegation walks in. Through the tiny crack in the wall, Alex can see that Amy and Srivastava look immensely relieved, though they both wrinkle their noses at the tell-tale smell of sex in the air. Alex shuts the panel the rest of the way and turns to Henry. They collapse together in a fit of silent giggles in the passageway.

Then Alex holds out a hand and with a huge grin and glittering eyes whispers, “The kitchen stocks Cornettos, now. Want to go steal some and eat them on the secret balcony?”

Henry grins right back and whispers, “Lead the way.”


End file.
